


Going Home

by Candy_A



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, M/M, Series: Camille
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy_A/pseuds/Candy_A
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of one of Blair's favorite students deeply affects both Jim and Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Home

## Going Home

by Candy Apple

Disclaimers: Pet Fly owns the guys and The Sentinel. No money being made on this. 

Notes: Could be pre-slash or gen--your choice. ;-) Well, this is for everyone on Senad who's participated in/lived through :-) the whole thread that started with "Blair as Nurturer" and spun off in some other fascinating directions, dealing with Jim's and Blair's emotions, relationship, and all sorts of good stuff like that. As we spawned posts of epic proportion, someone suggested putting the ideas into fiction. Well, okay, I did, and this one was born. 

* * *

GOING HOME  
by Candy Apple 

"Looks like a suicide," Rafe explained, leading the way as Jim and Blair accompanied him up a narrow flight of steps to a second floor apartment in a white frame house not far from the campus. "Forensics is just getting started." He stepped aside so Jim and Blair could enter the cramped living area. Seeing the commotion around the house on his way to drop Blair off at Rainier, Jim had decided to stop and check out the action that had brought the coroner's wagon and the forensics van to the scene.

Upon entering the tiny bedroom, Jim regretted bringing Blair inside with him--not that his persistent partner had given him any options in that regard. As soon as Jim was out of the truck, Blair was right by his side.

A young woman lay on the bed, skin white as snow, eyes open and glassy, a bloody gash on her wrist which dangled over the edge of the bed. A pool of drying blood was soaking into the furry pink rug.

"No sign of forced entry, nothing's been stolen--well, nothing noticeable's been disturbed," Rafe clarified, stepping aside for photos to be taken of the body by one of the forensics team. "Camille Roberts, 20 years old--according to her driver's license."

Jim made a full scan of the room, as he'd become accustomed to doing, attempting to detect anything out of the ordinary that someone without heightened senses might miss. What caught his attention was the rapid thudding of Blair's heart as he stood deathly still, leaning against the door frame. The expression on his face was not dissimilar from the dead woman's own glassy stare.

"You okay, Chief?" Then Jim thought of the proximity of the house to the University, and the likelihood that the dead girl was a student. "Did you know her?"

"She was one of my best students," Blair responded quietly. "Straight A's. I thought..." He stopped, swallowed, and then moved his eyes from the corpse to look at Jim. "I thought she might go on for grad school, you know?" Blair smiled faintly. "She always stays after class...lots of questions..." He blinked a couple times and straightened up from his slump against the door. "I'm gonna wait in the truck, okay?" he asked in a strained voice.

"Sure, Chief. No problem. I won't be long here."

* * *

Camille Roberts' case was closed as quickly as it was opened. Suicide, plain and simple. //Simple? A brilliant 20-year-old college student slits her wrist and lets her life bleed out on the floor, and that's simple?// Jim shook his head and closed the file folder. Rafe had completed the paperwork, and this "non-case" wasn't even Ellison's responsibility. So why did he care to review the file? It was puzzling, yes, that a girl like this would take her own life, and Sandburg had been very little help in gaining insight into her motives.

//So what makes a bright, promising young woman like Camille commit suicide?// For some reason, the thought of a studious, intelligent young student with everything to live for committing suicide for no known motive chilled Jim beyond words. //Blair, that's the reason. Listening to Camille's parents tell how their daughter had seemed happy, how she hadn't expressed any distress the last time they talked to her--no one thought anything was wrong with Camille, and now, just like that, she's on the slab downstairs. When was the last time anyone listened to Camille?// Jim wondered. //People don't just slit their wrists for nothing. There's a reason...a meaning. Something pretty damned horrible to make them chose death over facing it. Maybe no one ever really listened... Kind of like tuning out the continuous chatter from another bright young person I know...//

Jim thought back on dropping his pale, somewhat shaky partner off at the campus. Blair had insisted he'd be fine, and that now, of all times, he should keep his commitment to be on campus, since the class he taught at 1:00 that afternoon was the one in which Camille was a student. It was a class that functioned largely on discussion and research teams, and Camille was well-liked by her classmates. They would feel the loss, and Blair considered his responsibility to break the news to them and deal with the response nothing short of sacred.

Jim slumped back in his chair and looked at the clock. It was 12:30 now. He had left a message on Blair's voicemail confirming that it was all right to make the announcement to the class. Camille's family had been contacted that morning, and her death ruled a suicide by the coroner at noon. Neat and easy, a human life disposed of and summarized in a manilla folder.

Not terribly hungry but badly in need of some fresh air, Jim left his desk for his lunch break.

After eating part of a sub sandwich that seemed to drop like a lump in his stomach, Jim started out for Blair's office. He knew his partner had a tendency to skip eating altogether on Wednesdays, since he had classes and office hours back to back most of the day. So he'd bought a veggie sub he knew Blair liked and planned to leave it in his office with a note. Maybe the gesture would cheer him up even if he wasn't in the mood to eat.

Carrying the white deli bag, Jim made his way up to the third floor of the building where Blair's office was located. When he was a few steps down the hall, he knew immediately that Blair was at his desk. He frowned, checking his watch. It was only 1:30. Blair normally wouldn't have been back in his office for almost another hour.

"Hey, Chief. Didn't plan on seeing you here," Jim said, pushing the cracked door open and then closing it behind him. "Brought you lunch. I was going to leave a note..." Jim noticed that the slouched figure in the chair hadn't moved. Judging by the position he was in, Blair was just staring fixedly out the window at the budding trees. //All the evidence of Spring and new life...// "Blair?"

"Thanks for lunch," Blair responded quietly. "I'll have some later."

"Sure. I'll just leave it here." Jim set the bag on a nearby file cabinet. "How'd the class go?"

"Jim, look, I appreciate you bringing me lunch, but I...I'm just not up to talking right now, okay?" Blair's voice was little above a whisper.

"You let them out early...because of Camille?"

"Yes and no."

"Okay." Jim sat against the edge of Blair's desk, still only able to see the side of his face. The expression wasn't exactly blank, but it was frozen, and the eyes were pain-filled. "What does that mean?" Jim asked softly.

"It means I let them out because I couldn't handle teaching. Frankly, I don't think anyone was concentrating worth shit anyway, and I offered to scrap anything to do with class and talk, but no one seemed forthcoming with that either. So I called it quits." Blair let out a long, somewhat shaky sigh. "Nothing personal, man, but I need a little time here."

"I thought you might want to...you know...talk about this." Jim watched the face contort a bit, as if pulling back emotion.

"I can't right now."

"You know, Chief, grieving is nothing to be ashamed of." //This is rich, Ellison. You giving _him_ advice on sharing his feelings.//

"Yeah, right." There was a sniffle and then Blair seemed to summon the last of his strength to turn in his chair and stand. "Look, if you aren't going to give me some space, _I'll_ leave." He snatched his jacket off the back of the chair and headed for the door. Jim sprang from his perch on the desk and grabbed Blair's arm.

"You shouldn't be driving when you're upset."

"What the hell am I gonna drive? You dropped me off, remember? I'm just going to take a walk."

"Why is it that you hammer away at me to talk to you every time something's bothering me and then when something's wrong with you, you clam up? Isn't that a little hypocritical, Chief?"

"I can't handle fighting with you right now, Jim. Okay, I'm a hypocrite. The fact is, you aren't gonna like what you see so please just back off!" The last words were shaky, but still determined.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jim probed insistently.

"Just that..." Blair's control seemed to falter, and a ripple of misery crossed the expressive features before it was squelched again. Blair removed his glasses and tucked them in his pocket, as if busying himself with mundane gestures would help him regain his composure. It seemed to work. "I'm not...handling this too well. I know I'm supposed to be detached when I see something like we saw this morning, but I'm not. I just need some time to...to...handle it."

"I didn't expect you'd be detached about this, Blair. You knew her."

"Just like I knew Roy, and Emily Watson, and Buckner last year...and..." Blair trailed off as his eyes filled with tears and his voice broke. "Dammit, Jim, please leave me alone."

"Why? You don't want me to see you cry? To know you're grieving? Is that it?"

"Because I can't be detached and I can't settle down and I can't control myself!" Blair shouted back, tears spilling down his cheeks. "You always... _handle_ everything. You can see something like this and...and _deal_ with it. I know you get pissed off at me when I lose it and I can't deal with that too right now, okay? So just please leave me alone!" Blair shouted through tears that were falling steadily now.

"Come here, Chief." Jim tried to get a hold of Blair's shoulders, but the younger man moved away, heading for the door. In two long strides Jim was upon him, turning him around and keeping a firm grip on his arms. "You're always drilling it into my head to open up to you...to let you help me. Why won't you let _me_ help _you_?" Jim demanded softly. Sensing the waning resistance in his captive, he released his intense grip on Blair's arms and pulled him into a firm embrace.

"I didn't...want to...do this," Blair managed.

"I know. It's okay, buddy. Quit trying to hold it back. Just let it go, huh?" Jim prodded gently, rubbing Blair's back in long strokes. Finally, he felt the other man's arms go around his waist and tighten as sobs jarred the smaller body he held. "That's it, Chief. Let it out. It's okay." Jim continued to mutter reassurances to his sobbing friend, patting his back and finally stroking his hair gently. "You know something, Blair? One of the things I admire most about you is how much you feel things. How much you feel for other people. That's not something to be ashamed of, buddy."

"I didn't...want to...fail like this."

"Fail how? By crying?" Jim thought back over his own upbringing, and a lifetime of learning how to stuff feelings like these, and their attendant tears, down deep inside. His father had done a good job teaching that lesson, and his whole adult life had been spent re-learning it in the Army, and then with his police training. But given Naomi's openness and expressiveness, Jim couldn't fathom how Blair had ended up with such a hang-up about showing his emotions.

"I try...so hard...not to let...my emotions...get in the way...but...sometimes...I can't help it."

//Newsflash, Ellison... You gave him this hang-up. You and the pressure of living up to your standards...to the PD's standards. How much has it really cost him to earn the respect of the denizens of the Cascade PD, not to mention yours?//

"Somebody told me once that friends help each other. This falls into that category, partner." Jim gave Blair a tighter squeeze. "It's true that you can't afford to fall apart at a crime scene when you could still be in danger. And if you're going to flip out over every corpse you encounter, you aren't emotionally prepared to travel around with cops. That's all true. But that doesn't mean you can't grieve for a dead friend or a promising young student like Camille. It doesn't mean that you can't feel anything. The most important thing is that it doesn't mean you can't turn to your best friend when you need some moral support." Jim sighed. "You know, one of the things I hate most about my father's behavior was his coldness. I don't think I _ever_ saw him cry--even at his mother's funeral. Now that he's an old man, yeah, he might be a little more emotional. But when he was younger, man, he was made out of solid ice. I swore I'd never do to anyone what he did to me, and I turned right around and did it to you. I'm so sorry for that, Chief. I really am. I never meant to do that."

"Not your fault," Blair murmured, sniffling and trying to regain his control again. "I should be able to--"

"No," Jim cut him off. "What you should be able to do is hold yourself together at the scene, as much as possible, because that's what cops have to do. That doesn't mean you have to be without emotion, and you don't have to crawl off somewhere and hide when you're hurting."

"Thanks," Blair said quietly, pulling away and going over to his desk, rifling around until he found a tissue to blow his nose and wipe off his face.

"I mean it, Chief." Jim came up behind him and laid a hand on his back. "Home is where you're supposed to be able to go for comfort. It never was for me, but...I...I want it to be that for you."

Blair turned around to face Jim, his eyes still red and puffy, but a slight smile on his face.

"Home...has a nice sound to it," Blair finally said, grinning.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Jim smiled back, then started to say something but stopped. Blair, of course, ever observant of human behavior, was not about to miss the stifled words.

"What?"

"Nothing." Jim laughed a little and patted Blair's face. "How much longer do you have to hang around here--"

"Jim, you were going to say something else," Blair insisted. Knowing he was trapped, Jim felt the hot flush creeping up his neck, over his cheeks and all the way up to the edge of his hairline.

"I was just going to say...uh...well, you know that old saying, 'home is where the heart is'," Jim shot out nervously. Then, in a strained voice, he added softly, "So I guess that means my home's...uh...with you."

"Likewise," Blair said in a near-whisper, locking his eyes with Jim's.

Jim smiled down into that beloved face, feeling that he had inched one step closer to the elusive three words he wanted so desperately to say.

"Think you could get somebody to take your evening class?"

"I already called Hank--he's a TA. It's a freshman-level course, and all they're doing is taking an exam anyway. He can proctor that for me."

"How about hanging out the 'closed' sign and doing something this afternoon?"

"What about work?"

"There's nothing urgent on my desk right now. I'll ask Simon for the afternoon off. I don't think he'll refuse. Maybe we can go to that exhibit at the Museum you were talking about, grab something to eat and then head over to the planetarium. Sound good?" Jim had to smile at Blair's stunned expression. Both activities were things the younger man had nagged Jim endlessly for the two of them to do together. The flare of enthusiasm waned fast, and the sadness came back to Blair's expression, full force.

"I don't know if I'll be good company." Blair picked up a student paper off his desk. It was a fairly thick stack of white paper, stapled in the upper left hand corner. "I just finished grading this yesterday. She got an 'A'--of course," Blair added, smiling, another tear escaping. "She was so gifted...God, Jim, I just feel...so...I don't know. Cheated I guess. I wanted to be able to see her graduate, go on to grad school, grow from a student into a colleague. She loved Anthropology. She was a natural. Her mind was such a joy--even if she put me through the paces every time I stated a theory."

" _She_ put _you_ through the paces, Chief? That's scary." Jim laughed a little, and Jim joined him.

"We're talking genius here, man. It's just so fucking _wrong_. Why didn't I see something? God, she was around all these students of human behavior and not one of us...no one knew...nobody saved her." Blair's lip quivered a little and he ran his hand over the title page of the paper. "I wrote a comment on this...I said 'Brilliant work. Well researched and thoughtfully presented. Still thinking grad school?' Instead, she was thinking about dying."

"Why don't we just go home for now, and see if we feel like doing something later, huh?" Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders, looking down with him at the paper on the desk.

"I'd like that," Blair said quietly, sliding his arm around Jim's waist. "I'm glad you're here--and that you didn't listen to me about leaving."

"Me too, Chief. Come on, let's go home, huh?"

"Yeah. Home," Blair smiled up at Jim. Then, leaning into his larger partner, Blair tucked his jacket under his arm and grabbed his backpack.

"What you said about my not listening? I don't want that to be a pattern, buddy. If you want me to hear something, you keep at me until I listen, okay? Don't...just don't give up 'til I hear you, okay?" Jim paused, and sensing Blair's confusion at what he was saying, he concluded softly, "No one heard Camille."

"That would never happen to me. I have somebody to go home to, remember?" Blair smiled up at his partner, who squeezed the smaller set of shoulders and smiled back as they made their way down the hall and toward home.

THE END

For the moment... ;-)


End file.
